


Then, now, what's to come

by AlexTheShipper



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Fluff, M/M, Reichenbach isn't a thing, Sherlock is secretely a sweet heart, past bullying, soulmark, soulmate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2774921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexTheShipper/pseuds/AlexTheShipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock believes he is destined to never find his soul mate. Then he does and what should be a happy ending winds up a bit of a mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The story of our past's

 Sherlock hadn’t always hated sentiment; in fact when he was little he harbored an obsession with soul markings. He was in love with the idea of someone meant just for him. In love with the idea that there was someone who was made to deal with his deductions and eccentricities. He was four when his mother explained the markings to him, but by then it was largely unnecessary, Sherlock knew a lot about them. He knew the dark red swirls on his left shoulder represented the person who would love him in some way. Just as the blue cap Mycroft hid under an expensive watch represented someone who would love him and the purple numbers on father’s ankle represented mother. The best part was that he would love them too. Sherlock always imagined his soul mate as someone who would play pirates with him. Someone he could love, and who wouldn’t hate him for noticing everything. A soul mate was someone who couldn’t hate you to a young Sherlock.

Sherlock’s childish belief in sentiment faded quickly. By the age of six he was the most unpopular child in school. By age of nine he was used to accidently causing fights by pointing something out. He never expected to say the wrong thing and find his shirt torn open his soul mark bared. Things didn’t always go how he planned.

…

“Shawn are your parents fighting again?” The kid glared at him and the words of apology stopped in his throat instead. “That explains the violent out bursts of course.” He flinched internally knowing that wouldn’t lead anywhere good.

“What were you saying freak?” Shawn was unfortunately far more popular than Sherlock and he found himself surrounded by four other boys. Two hands went to hold him down and he shifted his weight trying to escape instead a hand grabbed his shirt ripping it before the boy’s got a grip on him.

“Is that his soul mark?” He heard someone behind him ask and he kicked out trying to get free. Shawn stepped forward and kicked him in the shin.

“Calm down freak, you’re only making it worse.”

“Sherlock it looks like your soul mate got lucky.” One of the boys taunted.

“I’m surprised the freak even has a soul marking, he’s barely human.” They spoke the cruel words so casually and Sherlock had to force himself not to cry.

“It looks like blood, your soul mate is lucky Sherlock they’ll never actually see you.” That night he stood in front of the mirror for hours panicked. It looked like blood. By the end of the week the nick name freak became Half-soul and later halfling.  That weekend Sherlock became a self-proclaimed sociopath. What good was love to someone as unloveable as him? Even if his soul mate was alive long enough to meet him, he wouldn’t want someone like Sherlock.

Things may have gone better of Mycroft had helped him, instead Mycroft only gave him one piece of advice.

“Don’t care Sherlock, caring is not an advantage.” Sherlock couldn’t help thinking he was right.

…

As an adult Sherlock had no friends and a tentative relationship with Scotland Yard. He helped them with murder cases and he didn’t need the drugs to calm the noise in his head. He told the yard he was a sociopath with no soul-mark and his childhood nicknames followed him in harsh words from police who couldn’t do their jobs.

…

John had loved his soul mark for as long as he could remember. Most people’s marks looked like mundane things, a bowling pin, or a bird. John’s soul mark was a small blue pile of fabric that seemed to almost glow surrounded by darkness. There was something distinctly sad about the mark and John wished he was there for his soul mate. Even before understanding the mark John was strangely protective of it. He refused to show it to anyone from a young age. When friends asked he simply claimed it was private and then tried to talk about rugby. Most people stopped asking before secondary school.

In high school John was relatively popular, and captain of the rugby team. Senior year found him being recruited for the army and after college he wound up in Afghanistan as a medic. He figured his light in the darkness couldn’t find a darker place than a war zone.  He worked hard and focused on the war rather than his mark, but that didn’t stop him from wondering. He may have avoided searching for his soul mate, but the idea never left his mind. He took care of himself hoping he’d find his soul mate.  Everything seemed to be going fine, as fine as anything can go in a war zone, until a bullet tore through his left shoulder. 

…


	2. Welcome to the present

 

Sherlock nearly collapsed when he felt it. His soul mark was burning and he screamed a name he couldn’t have possibly known.

“John!” He didn’t know where it came from and didn’t have time to dwell on it as he ran for the bathroom ripping his shirt off. A strange instinct had him frozen eyes locked on his soul mark. The brilliant red of the mark was fading to the black of a broken bond or lost mate. Sherlock watched the mark turn black and almost burst into tears. His childhood beliefs assaulted his mind and he cried desperately. Now he would never have someone who couldn’t hate him. In his desperate panic he reached out mentally for some connection. He could feel the presence there still and he reached for it trying to pull it back. The mark slowly turned red again. The second time it turned black he passed out head slamming into the wall behind him. When he woke up again the pain had faded and he looked down to see his mark blessedly red. In spite of himself he relaxed with the realization that his soul mate-John?- was okay. His John was safe. Someone might love him after all.

…

When he woke up they told him he’d died three times on the table and he chose not to mention the voice. His name had echoed through his head and that beautiful voice was tinged with pain, confusion, and fear. Even more confusing was the view of his blue light that kept yanking him back every time he began to fade.  Somehow he survived but wound up crippled and discharged. Nearly a month later he found himself talking to an old friend, Mike on a park bench.

“Who would want me as a flat mate?” John shot a self-depreciating smile toward Mike and gestured vaguely to his leg.

“You know, you’re the second person to ask me that today.” Mike grinned at him.

“Who was the first?”

…

“Mike can I borrow your phone” Sherlock didn’t bother to look up as the door opened but he did catalogue information. Two people, first person Mike, second person has a cane, possible potential flat mate. He missed the flash of recognition John gave at hearing his voice.

“Left it in my coat, sorry mate.” He bothered to look up then. The potential flat mate wasn’t using his cane, limp psychosomatic, tan lines at wrist, overseas, not for pleasure, clearly familiar with medical supplies, army doctor.

“You can use mine.” Sherlock nodded absently stooping back down to peer into the microscope.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” He heard the sharp intake of breath and rolled his eyes. Next the man would tell him to ‘piss off’ like everyone else did. Instead he handed over his phone. Borrowed, and scratched, alcoholic brother Harry perhaps according to the inscription. He had trouble with his wife, possibly why the army doctor wasn’t staying with him.

“Afghanistan… how exactly?” Sherlock rolled his eyes secretly pleased for the chance to show off.

“Hair, stature, and tan lines. Not to mention the limp, your therapist is right by the way it is psychosomatic.” Sherlock looked up waiting for the usual anger. “Definitely a traumatic injury though not in your leg, if I had to guess I’d say shoulder.” He barely stopped himself from freezing. Gun shot, left shoulder, like his mark. Fairly recent too, just like his mark. Possibly John then.

“Brilliant.” John thought he was brilliant? Not annoying? That was new, and wonderful. He would have to be careful not to touch John though; nobody wants a fully formed bond with a freak.

“I play violin, and sometimes don’t talk for days. Would that be a problem?” The man who could be his John shook his head. “I think potential flat mates should know the worst about each other. See you at 221B Baker street, oh and by the way the name is Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock winked at the doctor on his way out once again missing the doctor’s shock when Sherlock grabbed his scarf. He probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway, too busy looking over mental data on soul mates. He wasn’t a Halfling after all. The poor sod was lucky he hadn’t touched Sherlock though, who wants to bond with a freak like him.

…

John recognized the scarf in his mark relatively quickly, but Donavon made the whole thing make sense. At first he thought Sherlock would save him from a darkness instead he had to save Sherlock. Sherlock helped her catch criminals, and do her job, she in return called him a freak. Her ridiculous warning that Sherlock would kill was easy enough to ignore. The hard thing to ignore was how Sherlock responded to her insults. He deduced things, fought back with his brain rather than petty insults. None of them seem to realize Sherlock only points out their flaws when he’s hurt. He’s not being cruel he’s being defensive in the only way he can be. They joke about him not feeling things, but it was obvious to John he still felt everything they felt. Sherlock was his light, but his life was filled with darkness.

…

“Drugs bust.” Lestrade through the words around as if they were common place and John looked shocked.

“This guy? Drugs?” Sherlock winced internally. John was making a fool of himself as he tried to falsely defend Sherlock.

“John, you may want to shut up now.” John was far less of an idiot than most, and quickly figured out that Sherlock did indeed do drugs, if not now than once. The disappointed look John gives him aches in his chest.

“The freak probably has something in here.” John was seeing red and he fought the urge to punch Anderson. He probably would have if Sherlock hadn’t started talking.

“Oh, oh, stupid, stupid. She’s dead and she’s smarter than you lot. John, I need a computer.” Sherlock didn’t answer any questions posed by the yard or John as he typed in the email.

“The phone is here. How is it here?” Lestrade asked. “Is it in the bag?” Sherlock shook his head pacing.

“Sherlock, the cab won’t leave!” Mrs. Hudson called out from the door. Before John knew it Sherlock was gone. He glanced out the window to see the cab pulling away. Everything seemed to click and John was racing out after him.

…

Sherlock was not in shock over seeing a man killed. Sherlock was however shocked, John had saved his life. John had killed a man for him. Someone cared about him in a way no one had since before Mycroft left for college. Maybe he actually had a chance at happiness. Then John’s hand brushed against his and everything froze as the bonding level’s appeared in his mind.

There were five levels of bonding every teenager learned about. Level 1’s were fragile and could barely read each other’s strongest emotions, level 2’s could sense most of each other’s  emotions, level 3’s could soothe each other and begin to hear thoughts, level 4’s could share thought’s, and level 5’s could share memories. Each level also had the abilities of the levels below it.

 _No,no, no, no._ Sherlock tried to push John out of his head, he would not be vulnerable like this. _GET OUT._

…

John had felt the need to touch his soul mate, despite Sherlock not saying anything it was obvious he knew and John should have realized the other man was holding back on purpose. Instead he gave in to the selfish desire to complete the bond and touched Sherlock, only for an instant. He hadn’t been prepared for the panicked voice shoving him back. He tried to push back one thought hoping to calm him.

 _I won’t look please just don’t reject me._ The panic began to die down. _Please Sherlock._

Everything seemed to freeze and parts of Sherlock’s mind were blocked off and John panicked. _Please Sherlock, please don’t reject me._

“Promise me you won’t look?” John nodded and suddenly he felt overwhelmed and they both slipped out of consciousness. When he woke up Sherlock’s mind was still there, a level 5 bond supposedly impossible.

 _When you eliminate the impossible whatever’s left no matter how improbable must be true._ The voice sounded strangely hollow in his head and John had to resist the urge to comfort his soul mate, because he couldn’t intrude.  Couldn’t push at all into Sherlock’s mind or risk being shut out.

…

“Are you two alright?” Two synced voices asked them and Sherlock’s eyes flew open. Lestrade and Mycroft had bonded, obvious, boring. Evidence; marks, and personalities. Counter evidence; ‘Caring is not an advantage’.  Thought sync means level three, interesting. Anderson walked up with a look similar to those of bullies from his school days. A cruel smile on his face as Sherlock helps John up.

“The freak and his new pet had a little episode.” Donavon must be behind him there was no one here who would take kindly to that speech. “If freak here wasn’t a heartless Halfling I’d think you’d bonded.” Sherlock could feel the anger directed at Anderson rolling over him in waves and chose to step in before John got himself arrested. Surprisingly Mycroft beat him to it.

“You call my brother heartless and yet you cheat on your bond mate with another bonded. You take pleasure in teasing someone because they help you do your job, which you are too incompetent to handle on your own. Not to mention you don’t even have an original insult, you haven’t said anything Sherlock hasn’t been hearing since primary school.” With that Mycroft left with an overdramatic twirl of his umbrella.

“He’s right of course, I am used to the insults. John however is a doctor, a veteran, and a bloody good person, so show some human decency and treat him with respect. He is not under any circumstances a pet. Please, do not belittle him.” The orange shock blanket fell to the floor as the detective stormed off, nearly as dramatic as his brother.

“Bye Halfling.” Donavon called the insult after him.

…

John wanted to turn around and put her in her place.

 _Please don’t tell her._ John forced himself to follow the detective too afraid of rejection to go against his wishes.

“Why can’t I tell her?” John has to rush to keep up with him.

“They called you my pet because you know me, how will they act if they realize we’re bonded?” Sherlock pointed out what was obvious to him. “I will not have them hurt you because of me.”

“I don’t need to be protected.” Sherlock smiled at him.

“No you don’t, but you don’t need to be hurt either.” Suddenly there’s a small blast of panic and John can feel the link shutting. He panicked reaching out physically and mentally accidently grabbing onto the memory Sherlock had attempted to hide.

_He seemed to be lying on the floor faces hovering over him._

_“Halfling, Halfling.” A few of the kids were chanting and he could feel a foot pressing down on his leg._

_“I AM NOT A HALFLING YOU IDIOTS.” Sherlock’s voice exploded out of him. “I am a high functioning sociopath. Barry, I may not be the best person to ask, but I’m fairly certain it’s rude to sleep with your best friend’s girlfriend. Nessa nice shoes, you stole them from Emily right?” Sherlock smirked at them._

_“Shut it freak, at least my soul mate will live long enough to meet me.” The girl, probably Nessa said._

_“Caring is not an advantage.”_

John felt the emotions Sherlock had been hiding and the biggest one was loneliness.

…

“Alone is what I have John, alone protects me.” John grabbed his arm and Sherlock found himself being dragged back to the crime scene.

“Alone doesn’t protect people Sherlock, friends protect people.” John said.

“John, please don’t.” John stopped long enough to glare at him.

“I am not ashamed of you Sherlock.” He had to force himself not to smile.

“Of course not I’m brilliant.” He attempted a smirk.

“Then are you ashamed of me? After all I’m a cripple with average intellect.” Sherlock fell into the trap without realizing it.

“Of course not John.”  Sherlock would never be ashamed of John. John was his.

“Then let’s go.” Sherlock sighed, but allowed John to drag him back to Donavon.

“Freak.” John bristled at the greeting.

“Donavon.” Sherlock pulled himself upright his anxiety fighting to overwhelm him.

“Apologize.” John sounded far more demanding than Sherlock had expected his voice coming out like the captain he was.

“Why would I apologize to the Halfling?” John is seething through the bond and Sherlock has to resist rolling his eyes.

“Well, one because calling people freak is rude and two because he’s not a Halfling.” John said.

“His bond mate is dead.” Sherlock does actually roll his eyes. _Funny, you don’t look very dead to me._

“Funny, I don’t feel dead.” She gasps and he rolls his eyes. “Even if I was, how on earth does that excuse your frankly cruel behavior? Do you get off on making fun of people’s losses? Someone would die and you’d turn it into a joke, an insult? Is that how you treat victim’s bond mates? No wonder you’re regulated to guarding the yellow tape.”

Sherlock smiled as the two walked off together leaving Donavon sputtering behind them. John had just begun to prove himself trust worthy as well as witty, maybe Sherlock could trust him with his memories after all. He was still smiling when he got back to the main road and hailed a taxi. He nearly laughed when he heard John wonder about his magical taxi hailing skills.

“It’s not magical John, it’s a height advantage and an expensive coat.” 


End file.
